


Split

by ashes0909, FestiveFerret



Series: Held [50]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bondage, Canon-Typical Violence, Dom/sub, Feelings, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Recovery, Sappiness, This One Has Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-02-12 19:30:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12966756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashes0909/pseuds/ashes0909, https://archiveofourown.org/users/FestiveFerret/pseuds/FestiveFerret
Summary: Everything stopped when Iron Man fell.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> To celebrate our 50th episode of Held (yay!), and the holidays, we're doing Plot™! This one's going to be a roller coaster, folks, hold on to your hats! 
> 
> (And thank you so much for staying with us for 50 episodes! We love you guys so much!! <3 <3)

Everything stopped when Iron Man fell. 

They’d been over it, talked it through, and Steve and Tony had agreed that Steve was the leader of the team and he couldn’t prioritize one member over the others. For the most part, Steve felt he did a good job of staying Cap when the cowl was on and the shield was in his hand. But every time Iron Man took a particularly bad hit, or fell off the comm, or landed rough, there was a brief flash where they were just Steve and Tony and Steve felt the debilitating pain of seeing his partner in danger. 

So for a horrible moment, everything stopped when Iron Man fell.

They never started the day expecting an Assemble, even more so lately since it had been so long since their last. Steve had hardly taken any missions, as SHIELD was still rebuilding from the HYDRA infestation, so the two of them had had lots of sweet alone time together in the last few weeks. They sunk deep into domesticity and floated there. The upcoming holidays only served to make the violence and bloodshed seem even further away. Sprigs of green and twinkling tinsel coated the tower and, somehow, a massive evergreen had appeared in the Avengers living room overnight.

That morning, Steve had padded into the bathroom to find Tony humming AC/DC to himself in the shower.

Steve had sat down, with his back against the counter and his legs stretched out in front of him. He hooked his fingers in the collar he still wore from last night and tugged a little, enjoying the feeling of restraint twisted together with belonging, just as the vibranium twisted with the leather.

“That’d better be Steve,” Tony said from the glass-enclosed shower stall. “If it’s Clint you’re going to get a show you really don’t want to see.”

Steve chuckled. “It’s me.”

“Hey, babe. What are you up to?”

Steve let his eyes drift shut. “Listening to you.”

“Sap.” Steve heard the click of a shampoo bottle, and his fingers twitched with the urge to run them through Tony’s hair. “Will you be lovely and listen to me natter on about my latest project for a while?”

“Of course.”

Tony dove in, talking about something called alcohol dehydrogenase and acetaldehyde in great detail and occasionally stopping to argue with himself about science that went over Steve’s head and possibly draw diagrams on the shower walls with the sharpie he never seemed to be without. By the time he shut off the water and swung the glass door open, Steve was deep in a sea of Tony’s voice, languid and lax and halfway to floating. “Well, that’s a beautiful sight.”

Steve turned to grin up at him, then pulled his knees up to let Tony pass. Tony grabbed a towel, and Steve watched appreciatively as teasing glimpses of Tony’s naked body peeked out from the terrycloth. Tony rubbed the towel over his hair, sending it wild, then tossed it in the basket in the corner. He stepped forward, between Steve’s knees and furrowed his fingers in Steve’s hair. Steve made as if to get up and give Tony access to the sink, but Tony’s fingers tightened, holding him in place. “Stay right there, love.”

Tony’s fingers wandered down to Steve’s jaw and levered his mouth open gently. When Steve tipped his chin up obligingly, eyes meeting Tony’s, Tony slipped his cock between Steve’s lips. His skin was wet and tasted like soap and Tony. He was soft, but as Steve closed his lips around his cock and swallowed, he felt him harden, settling heavy on Steve’s tongue. A bloom of pride unfurled in Steve’s chest, knowing he could make Tony’s body react, coax a response out of him so easily. Steve sucked gently, rolling his tongue and building up a slick layer of spit. Tony sighed happily and leaned forward into the contact. 

A sudden rush of water above let Steve know that Tony had turned on the sink, continuing his morning routine while Steve serviced his cock. The soft, easy thrusts of Tony’s hips kept Steve’s pace easy and slow, more providing a hot wet place for Tony to push into, than sucking him off with any kind of goal in mind. He could read Tony now, sense what he wanted and easy was what he was looking for now. 

Tony was fully hard now, filling Steve’s mouth and threatening the back of his throat. Steve was hard too, but he wouldn’t even have noticed if Tony’s feet hadn’t shuffled between his thighs and brushed his cock. Steve’s knees tightened unconsciously, trapping Tony between his legs, and Tony hummed in response, tipping back to peer down at him with his toothbrush disappearing into his mouth and toothpaste all over his lips. He pushed forward again, a little harder this time, and Steve moaned around his cock, feeling the head hit the back of his throat. 

Tony leaned forward again, disappearing into the rush of the sink and the clack of his water cup. Steve let his eyes drift shut and his head rest against the counter, relaxing his jaw and letting Tony rock gently between his lips. 

The sink shut off, and Tony pulled back, replacing his cock with two of his fingers when Steve whimpered at the loss. Flames flickered in Tony’s eyes as he watched Steve suck his fingers, his own mouth falling open so his tongue could dart over his lips. “Come here.” Tony dropped his hand to Steve’s chin and urged him up until he could kiss him hard and eager. He tasted like mint toothpaste. “Breakfast first. Then I have plans for you.”

The Assemble came halfway through breakfast, and Steve was struck with a bolt of hot guilt that his first thought had been disappointment that he was going to miss out on Tony’s plans, instead of worry over whatever destruction they were being called in to stop. 

Tony hurried over and pulled the collar off as soon as the alarms sounded, forcing Steve to meet his eye until he shook off the last remnants of subspace and gave Tony a sharp nod. Tony shoved the last of his bacon in his mouth and they broke for the jet. 

They were robots. They had to be robots, it was the only explanation. But they didn’t look like robots, they looked like ventriloquist dummies. Wide painted eyes and slow-jawed mouths, their arms hung in the arm like they were being held up by invisible strings. Whenever they stopped moving, they slumped, chins to their chests, wrists lax. It was horrifying. And they were endless. 

They swarmed the neighbourhood, attacking anything they could get in their sights, from people, to buildings, to cars. If they weren’t engaged with an Avenger, they were being as destructive as possible and the team tore through them as quickly as possible, trying to draw the attention to themselves and away from the city. The puppets hit hard, and they were relentless, but after over forty minutes of battle, the team finally started pushing them back under some semblance of control.

There was a crackle, like the air had filled with static electricity, then Steve’s comm went dead. Steve opened his mouth to call across the alley to Nat, to see if her comm was out too, when he looked up and saw Iron Man fall.

A streak of red, plummeted through the sky, and Steve could tell from the position of his body that it was not a controlled descent. Ice water flooded through his veins. He pelted across the street to Nat. 

“Comm?!” he yelled.

“Nothing!” she called back.

“Iron Man is down!”

“Go! I’ll get eyes on the others.” She smashed her bites into the chest of one of the robots, sending it twitching to the floor then made a beeline for Hawkeye’s last known location. Thor was high the sky, off in the distance, but he was locked in combat with one of the puppets and either hadn’t seen Tony fall, or couldn’t get away from the thing long enough to help. Steve blazed down the alley, throwing his shield ahead of him to clear a path. 

He skidded around the corner and came to a halt where he’d seen Tony fall. The street was empty. His comm was still nothing but dead noise, but there was no way, after a fall like that, that Tony wouldn’t swing by to let him know he was alright. But this had to have been where he fell. Steve took a few steps forward and the light fell on a broken patch of concrete. When he moved over towards it, he realized that the sidewalk had bent inward, cracked by some immense downward force. The edges spiked up and there was still a halo of concrete dust around it. Steve bent down and ran his hand across the bottom of the small crater. There was a long sharp scratch dug into the concrete, and when Steve leaned forward he could see. The scratch was dark, made by something metal, and along one side was a rough line of red paint.

Tony had fallen here, and now he was gone. Someone had taken him.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hey, Pinocchio!” Tony called cheerfully, swooping low to scoop up one of the robotic puppets. “Let’s go for a ride!” He spiralled up into the air, one of the thing’s gangly arms trapped in the gauntlet of the suit.

He was feeling giddy. It was disappointing to have his morning with Steve interrupted, but in some ways, this was better. He enjoyed imagining all the things he and Steve could do together when they got back to the penthouse, and then enjoyed wondering what Steve was imagining Tony had planned. He hummed happily as he zipped up higher and higher until he heard the puppet’s electronics crackle and pop. “Icing, buddy. It’s a real problem.” He dropped low again and dropped the puppet, enjoying the sickening crack when it hit the pavement.

He jetted over the tall building beside him, getting eyes on the rest of the team, making sure no one needed air support before he took on a new robot. Steve’s sleek form caught his eye, and he allowed himself a moment to admire his lover in battle. Steve spun and dove and struck, the shield flying out of his palm to bring down robot after robot then ricocheting back to his hand in a perfectly choreographed dance.

A crash to his left pulled his attention away from Steve and back to the fight. A puppet robot was attacking a stopped car, smashing its fist against the window. Tony spun towards it, high in the sky, but just as he was preparing to dive down again, a strange shockwave passed over him. The suit crackled with static electricity and for a moment, Tony felt as if his breath had been robbed. 

And then the HUD went blank.

A few versions of the suit had eye holes Tony could actually see out of but most of them relied on the video feeds from outside, displayed on the inside of the helmet. And those feeds were a number one priority for JARVIS.

“J?” Tony asked. There was no reply. Tony moved his hands, rapidly cycling through the subtle triggers that controlled the suit, but it wouldn’t respond. His stomach swooped, and he realized that even though he couldn’t see the ground approaching, he must be falling. Panic twisted in his gut, and he frantically tried to fire the repulsors but nothing was responding. There were no alerts or warnings - he just fell, dead in the sky.

Tony found himself struggling uselessly inside the suit, berating himself for not putting a manual release in this mark. This suit was heavy and heavily-armed and a little bit prototype still. It had been so long since he’d had an issue like the icing problem with Mark II that he’d stopped worrying about taking new models out in the field.

His stomach swooped again, and he tried to brace himself for the inevitable impact. The suit was designed to protect him in case of a crash, but it still slammed through his whole body when he finally hit the ground. The impact was a breath-stealing surprise with no way to see the ground coming. Briefly stunned, he lay flat on the ground, sucking useless breaths into lungs that had seized up. It felt like ages before his body clicked into action again, and the air reached his lungs, finally flooding his body with oxygen. He sucked in rapid, painful breaths, focusing on nothing else until his body stopped screaming that he was drowning, or worse, trapped in space again.

Every inch of him throbbed with pain, a few unexpected hot tears leaking out of the sides of his eyes. Tentatively, he wiggled each of his fingers and toes, prepared for something to be broken, but thankfully, they all moved when commanded and his bones appeared to be intact. Every muscle, tendon, and joint whined though, shocked by the hit. He knew his comm was dead, but he couldn’t help the small, “Steve?” that leaked out. There was no reply.

He tried to lift an arm, but the armour was too heavy to move from the inside. He braced himself and put all his strength into trying to shift the suit, roll it to the side, anything, but it remained flat on the ground, pinning him inside.

Panic flared again - the wild kind this time - and his heart rate shot dangerously high. His breaths were short and sharp now. Even though he knew the filters would have opened when the suit died, letting outside air leak in, it suddenly felt like there wasn’t enough of it in the suit. He sucked in between his teeth and tried to will his body to calm down, but it wouldn’t. Pulse after pulse of bitter adrenaline flooded his bloodstream until his head was spinning with the need to fight or flight.

He tried shifting the suit again, but when it wouldn't budge, it only served to send him wilder with panic. He was trapped and he couldn’t get out and he would be stuck here forever, pinned inside his own creation - the thing that was supposed to protect him. He let out a half sob, half scream of frustration and squeezed his eyes shut.

_ Steve. _

Steve would find him. Steve wouldn’t let him rot here. Steve would rip the fucking suit off his body piece by piece if he had to. Tony focused on two things: breathing slowly and Steve. He directed his manic mind to turn its entire attention to memories of that morning, in their bathroom, Steve at his feet, perfect lips parted, letting Tony slide between. He was so giving, so gorgeous in his surrender. And he was Tony’s. And he wasn’t going to leave him here. Any minute, the faceplate would tear off with a horrible grind of metal, and Steve’s face would be the first thing he’d see. 

Any minute…

There was loud, grinding, groaning noise, and Tony realized he could hear what was going on outside the suit. But it wasn’t voices, just the creaking of tortured machinery. A moment later, the suit jerked, shaking him inside, then shifted. He was… being lifted? But none of the Avengers were strong enough to lift the suit with him inside it. Steve or Thor could easily rip the faceplate off, and they would, immediately, to make sure Tony was okay. But instead he was being lifted straight up, slow but steady… and the creak of machinery. A crane? 

And there was panic again, because SHIELD and the Avengers had no reason to lift him with a crane. That was  _ insane.  _ Which meant someone else was. The someone who had downed him in the first place. Because he could tell himself it had been electrical failure on his part all he wanted, but he knew that wasn’t true. Someone had found a way to EMP the Iron Man armour and now they were stealing it, with Tony trapped inside.

Well, at least he was a pro at being kidnapped, Tony thought with a whimper. Memories of Afghanistan roared up inside him. His chest throbbed as the car battery shorted against his skin - wet hair, sore throat, and fear, fear, fear. They might leave him in the suit - maybe to die; his most prized possession turned coffin.

What did they want with him this time? To build some weapon of mass destruction? To take the suit? To rip his heart out of his chest?

Only this time, his heart was split, half beating against the casing of the arc reactor, and half out there, throwing that shield, fighting on, probably with no idea that Tony was currently being carted away. 

_ “So you’re a man who has everything… and nothing,” _ Yinsen had said, and back then it had been true. But now, now Tony had everything and that meant he had everything to lose. Now he stood for something, now he fought for something, now he had a family.

Now he had Steve.

He wished, right down to the pit of his stomach, that the comm had still been live or worked for just a moment. Even if it wasn’t enough to get the team there in time to save him, he would have liked to have had the opportunity to say goodbye to Steve. He’d escaped the last time. It didn’t seem possible that he could get that lucky twice.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas and Happy Heldidays!

“Gorgeous.” Tony’s breath ghosted across Steve’s bare shoulder as he whispered in his ear from behind. The praise washed over Steve like warm water, sinking him under. He flexed his muscles into the ropes that crisscrossed his body and thrilled when they refused to give.

He sat with his legs folded under him and his knees spread wide. The ropes danced over his heated skin, tying his ankles to his thighs and trapping his arms behind his back. Steve tipped his chin up, eyes closed, as Tony’s palm stroked over the back of his shoulders. Tony was still fully dressed which only made the overwhelming humiliation of being naked and trussed up even more intense. Steve knew his cheeks were hot and the weight of his needy cock between his thighs was hard to ignore.

“What a good boy,” Tony whispered between his shoulder blades, tracing a single finger down his spine and over his bound hands. Steve took a shuddering breath and arched into and away from the touch, bowing his shoulders back and pushing his rapidly beating heart up towards the ceiling. “What do you want, love?”

Steve could barely speak, his tongue a dead weight in his mouth. He swallowed hard and managed, “Touch me, please.”

He could hear Tony’s lips break into a smile. The finger stroked down his back again, over his hands and to his ass. Tony slipped his hand between the cheeks and teased Steve’s hole, chuckling when Steve jerked in the ropes, unable to move. He was whimpering, begging maybe, and Tony just kept teasing him, his strokes getting softer and softer. Steve huffed out a desperate breath, and the touch disappeared entirely. He hung, waiting, being good for Tony, knowing Tony liked to see him wild with need before giving in and letting him find release.

His chest heaved as he sucked in air, quivering in his bonds. Time passed, and Tony’s touch didn’t return. “Please,” he tried, to no avail. His eyes opened, but the room was dark and so, so still.

“Tony?” There was no answer.

The room darkened further.

Steve squirmed against the ropes, but instead of supporting him, they were tightening now. Every time he moved, they squeezed his chest a little harder. Panic surged up then exploded in his gut. He was trapped, he couldn’t move. “Tony!” He struggled violently, summoning all of his super strength. Hot tears poured down his face. Where was Tony? The ropes ticked tighter and tighter until Steve could no longer pull in breath, curling into himself as the pain overwhelmed him.

“To-” Steve surged up, flinging his arms wide and cracking his knuckles painfully against the headboard. His chest heaved up and down, sucking in gasping mouthfuls of oxygen. His eyes immediately fell on the empty stretch of bed to his left, and he was seeing Tony fall all over again. Bound frozen not by ropes in the night but his own fear, his own disbelief. He had frozen, and now Tony was gone.

The team had found him in the middle of the street, bent over with his leather clad fingers brushing against the red paint.

Gone.

A sob broke from his chest, anguish and anger, a coiled up burn of self-hatred and regret. He had no way of knowing where Tony was, with the comms down and JARVIS offline, there was nothing, not a beep announcing Tony’s presence to the world.

The wrongness of that, of a man so big and bright and the center of Steve’s world reduced to a dead signal on the radar. His fist clenched hard against their bedsheets because even surrounded by all this technology, all the wonders of the modern world, he _still_ had to see the man he loved fall from the sky, lost to Steve like so many others. But not like the others at all.

_Tony._

He had to find him. It was all he could say to his team, once he could say anything at all. Hawkeye had arrived at the scene first, screaming his name from a nearby rooftop. At the time he hadn’t heard him, too busy repeating the same word over and over and over in his mind. _“No, no, no…”_

Strong arms, probably Thor had latched under his, in an attempt to pull him away. Steve’s feet dug into the asphalt of their own accord, pushing up chunks of cement causing the Iron Man paint to shift and crack and fall to pieces. Steve went limp. He remembered Natasha’s face coming into view, her eyes wet and concerned. It was all too much at once, seeing her so wildly affected as well, knowing that they were urging him to leave, to take him from this place where Tony had needed him the most. He’d arrived, too late.

His stomach churned now, because that had been valuable time to _find him_ , and Steve had frozen, useless, like he was back under the ocean, time suspended until Tony returned.

He could hardly talk to anyone back at the tower, went straight to his room and laid down, picturing Tony falling over and over until he fell into a fitful sleep. The team benched him until further notice; until Tony returned.

Because Tony had to come home. Steve’s collar still lay where Tony had left it on the dresser after breakfast. Waiting unbuckled for familiar, loving hands to wrap it back around Steve’s neck - and he couldn’t be in this bed anymore, couldn’t have this glaring Tony-shaped hole laying in the bed next to him. He pushed up and stumbled out the door.

He didn’t know where he was going, and it didn’t matter. As soon as he shoved out the bedroom door, a hand came over the back of the sofa, wrapping around his wrist and halting him in his path.

He didn’t have the energy to shake her away or to say anything, all he could do was stand there waiting for Natasha to explain her presence, or not, it didn’t much matter.

“Look at me.”

It wasn’t until he heard her words that he realized he’d been staring at the carpet. She held Steve’s gaze for a long time, before she took in his heavy brow and hunched shoulders.

“Come here.” She patted the couch next to her, and for some horribly masochistic reason his mind supplied him with a memory from a morning a couple months back. Steve had worked Tony’s shirt buttons closed one at a time after peeling them apart to kiss his way down Tony’s chest, keeping him from leaving for work. How his eyes had danced, following Steve’s progress over his skin. And how he had stretched out, settled back on the cushions, morning light streaming over his face as he laughed. “Steve,” Nat prompted again, voice firm.

He walked around the couch, coming to stand in front of her. He felt lost, so tired and everywhere was memories of Tony. On the couch, in the kitchen, by the windows, all of it marked some way by the man he loved.

“Sit with me.”

He did, it felt rigid and wrong. Everything felt _wrong_.

“Not like that, like this.” She nudged at his shoulder until his head came to rest on her lap, legs coming up to sprawl on the couch. Her hand found his hair and ran through the strands, her fingers thinner than Tony’s, her nails longer, and what if he never felt the _right_ hands again?

A shudder followed the thought, breath catching on every broken sob. Above him, Nat hummed, and a soothing hand rubbed his shoulder. “Fury has everyone on it. JARVIS is hacking every surveillance camera and monitoring any chatter. If anyone so much as mentions him, we’ll know.”

There was so much more he could be doing, scouring the planet for him; but doing something rash wouldn’t help anyone. They needed intel first, before he could act. Steve knew it, but it didn’t stop the spiral of thoughts, his mind screaming at him to _do something!_

Natasha’s hand gripped his head, sure and unforgiving, and Steve’s breath caught. “What-- What are you doing?” He asked between puffed breaths, sparks from her grip forming along his scalp.

“You’re mind is going a mile a minute.” Her words were soft, kind. “And you’re exhausted. Let me help you.” Her fingers loosened their hold, reverting to running through his strands.

Steve tensed.

Nat snorted. “Not like that, you dolt. I'm not going to make you kneel before me or anything. Just this..." Her grip tightened again, this time around his head instead of his hair, pushing into his temple and along his hairline. He focused on her fingers, the press and release of tension, press and release, press and release, a meditative rhythm he could focus on, follow and float into, settling under her secure strength. He was lost without Tony, but Nat anchored him with each sure stroke of her hand.


	4. Chapter 4

The first thing Tony became aware of when they extracted him from the suit was a damp cloth pressed against his face, and then he was out again. When he woke up, his arms were stretched too tight above him, hooked to a chain around an exposed cement support beam. He was in a garage, or a small warehouse, and there was absolutely nothing else in the room with him but the chains around this wrists, and the very creepy ventriloquist's dummy robot that sat, motionless, against the wall opposite him. 

As if placed there intentionally. 

“So not just physical torture, then? We’re also going to add mind games in the mix?” Tony shouted into the empty room. “Good, good, just checking. Solid plan, the painted grin on that thing’s face is truly terrifying.” He kicked his leg out in the direction of the dummy, coming nowhere near it at all. The extra flourish was suspicious. It made this feel a little too personal.

He was alone, and the part of him that lacked any self-preservation was thankful. Alone meant maybe it was just him here, maybe the other Avengers had evaded capture. These people were obviously toying with him, and nothing toyed with a man more than parading his injured and unconscious teammates out in front of him. He was alone. He hoped. 

If Steve were here, tied up or beaten down--Tony’s stomach curled at the thought. He couldn’t think about him, about any of them. He needed to escape.

He looked around the room for a camera. In the corner of the ceiling, there was a grate that could easily hide one. He narrowed his eyes and glared. “There’s a lot of reasons why people go about kidnapping me. Not my first rodeo, you know? Last time it was for weapons. But I don’t see any loose tech around waiting for a new owner, so it’s not that. Money? Maybe. Would make the most sense...unless.” He dropped his eye from the grate to stare at the dummy. Something didn’t sit right with him about it--the fixed stare, grin hooked open and arms loose by its side. “You make horrible company, you know that?” he asked the robot-- weapon-- _ thing, _ as he tried to puzzle out why someone would go through the trouble to design something this terrifying. A puppet of death. 

The door next to the robot slammed open, and the reverberation shook the walls enough that the dummy pitched to the side and fell to the floor. A man walked in the door, burly and unpleasant looking. Tony met his gaze, and the man looked at him, not as if he were their golden goose, but down his nose at him, as if Tony were nothing. 

It was a surprise. The last thing he wanted right now was to be surprised. 

The man looked vaguely familiar, which never never meant anything good. It spoke of personal relationships, of motive. The man snapped his fingers and looked out the door, presumably down the hallway, and then men started swarming in. Each and every one of them carried a box or crate. Tony could see a screwdriver and computer parts sticking out of the top of one. They wanted something from him, him specifically. His heart raced, because it was another point in favor of the  _ Steve’s Not Here _ hypothesis.

But they wanted him to make something horrible, of that he had no doubt. They always want something horrible. A rush of panic coursed through him, one that he’d been able subdue before by focusing on the robot. His breath came into his chest too ragged, too shallow, and a phantom pain erupted behind his arc reactor. Back in the cave, he had woken surrounded by parts, a gaping hole in his chest, and the garage he was in suddenly smelled damp, tasted like sweat and sand. 

“Hey!” The man holding open the door shouted. “Someone smack him, he’s having some sort of fit.” 

A large hand with a rough palm slammed into the side of his face, and Tony swung in the chains, focused on the pain. He let it root him in the here and now. Another smack, this time on the opposite side of his face before the man pulled back, only to spit on Tony’s flaming cheek. Then the guy started to go to town on him, smack after smack until a rhythm formed, one that seared with broken skin, but one that was predictable.

“That’s enough!” The man by the door shouted. “Rumlow’s coming.”

Tony stopped breathing. These were Pierce’s man. The same Pierce that was rotting six feet under. The same Rumlow that tried to corner  _ his  _ Steve in an elevator. When the man’s form entered the doorway, Tony was already growling. 

Rumlow laughed. “Well, well, we have a live one.”

His lackeys laughed. Tony seethed. 

“Yeah, that’s right, Metalman. You didn’t see the last of us.” Rumlow walked down the stairs like they were designed especially for him, having silent conversations with his lackeys using nothing more that threatening glances and head gestures. They started unloading computer parts and snapping together a workstation. “We’re going to set you up real nice, and guess what?” He stopped in front of Tony, eye to eye. “When you’re a good boy for us, and agree to do exactly what we say, we’ll even unchain you to do it.”

“How gracious.” Tony rolled his eyes, and he knew he should keep his mouth shut but baiting these guys, keeping the focus on him, meant they weren’t able to beat anyone else. If Steve  _ was _ here--No, he couldn’t think about it. A smile instead, to piss them off and mask the pain.  “My last kidnappers managed to cause life-threatening harm before they even had me in hand. You’re slacking.”

A first to his gut, and all the breath was knocked out of Tony. His body attempted to fold in half but the chain wouldn’t give enough slack to let him. His shoulder sockets screamed. There was laughter, he could hear it through his coughing and groaning, and Tony started taking names, trying to figure out how he could start kicking some ass. There was the guy by the door, with his bald head and Mr. Clean muscles. Scrawny kid in the corner, and a man with more tattoos than blank skin.

Rumlow, apparently feeling left out from Tony’s mental roll call, decided to slam a fist into the side of his head. His ear popped, and everything started to spin. Blood flooded his mouth, and he had to spit it out to breathe. “Project Insight?” Tony asked, once he could speak, because these goons weren’t smart enough to devise their own large-scale nefarious plan. Kidnapping and torturing Tony was the extent of their knowhow.

Rumlow laughed, clapping his hands and gesturing to Mr. Tattoo. “See, I told you picking up a genius would be funner than most. You owe me five dollars.”

“We ain’t done with him, yet,” Tattoo man gruffed. “He could still give you problems.”

Rumlow turned back to Tony, reaching out to pinch his ringing ear hard, twisting and pulling until he cried out. “You’re not going to give us problems are you?”

He groaned, the pain in his head radiating up to meet the pain in his outstretched arms. It took all his strength to straighten his head, but when he did, Tony glared at Rumlow. “What do you think?”

“Well shucks,” Rumlow replied, voice oozing with sardonic disdain. “Looks like we’re going to have to convince you another way.”

“To do what? Project Insight died with Pierce.”

Rumlow walked over to the computer that scrawny kid was setting up. Tapped on the screen before looking back at Tony. “Not dead, if you program these chips. We break into the helicarrier and Mission Accomplished.”

“Program the chips to do what?” Tony shifted, trying to find a way to loosen the strain on his wrists as he baited Rumlow into a conversation with words, instead of one with violence. “Insight was going to, what? Proactively kill potential threats? There were hundreds of thousands of people on that list. I was on that list.” Steve was on that list. It wasn’t going to happen. These former SHIELD turned Hydra goons were  _ not _ going to let him put Steve in harm's way.

“That look in his eye? Looks like you’ll be owing me money after all,” Tattoo man said around a grin.

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Rumlow said, reaching over Tony to pull at his chains, testing their weight. “Jones,” he called up to the man holding the door open. “Go get R3978.” 


	5. Chapter 5

The first time he heard a scream, Steve thought it was coming from his own mind. He kept his focus on the screen where Jarvis was running the numbers, scanning the airwaves, looking for Tony every way he knew how, while all Steve could do was stare at the fruitless results.

Tony was still missing, unable to talk to Steve, let alone scream at him for help.

The second time he heard a scream, he dropped the book from his hands and pushed up from the couch, following the sound. He couldn’t breathe, and it wasn’t until he tasted the bitter rush of blood that he realized he’d been biting the inside of his cheek. He could hear his own heartbeat in his ears; it was like going underwater again. Not the soft, soothing slip of Tony bringing him down, but the harsh, ice-cold shock of the plane plowing into the Arctic.

Another scream broke the silence, and then Steve was running down the hallway. He checked every guestroom, looking for anything that could be the source of the sound. The hallway was empty, and the screams only grew fainter, so he turned on his heel and ran to the other side of the common room, where his old bedroom used to be, before he had moved up to the penthouse with Tony.

The door was closed, which wasn’t unusual. Another explosive scream rang out, and Steve had to wipe the blur from his eyes before kicking the door down, fists up and ready for battle.

Blue light from the television illuminated the room. Tony was sobbing in the center of the screen. He was curled on the hard concrete, folded in half with a rope tying his ankles to the thick of his thighs. But the rope wasn’t rope, it was lighting up, bursts of energy, of electricity, jolting Tony and making him seize on the cement and scream.

Steve’s knees buckled, and he fell to the floor.

There was laughter in that room. Now that he was closer, he could hear it, muffled under Tony’s screams until the electrical sparks stopped, then the room fell silent save for his own ragged breathing. Steve’s face was wet, and he had to rub his eyes to see the screen. But he couldn’t look away, because Tony needed him to be strong, to think, to figure it out. Tony must have sent the video, somehow, and Tony always had a reason. Steve had to use it, look for any sign or clue, to bring Tony back. There was no other option. This was proof that he was still alive, and Steve intended to keep him that way. “JARVIS--”

“I’ve already begun tracing the source of the transmission, Captain--”

“Good.” The word tasted wrong in his mouth.

On the screen, Tony jerked in the ropes, despite the electricity no longer running through them. Fear rushed the blood through his ears, forcing everything else to fade away except Tony.  He was struggling, like he was trying to get out, like he hadn’t given up. And all Steve could do was sit there, helpless, useless, and shame mixed with his overwhelming terror. Tony was in peril, and even though he had promised to care for him, chosen to be good for him in every way, here and now, Steve could do nothing.

He ached, numb and scared and frozen, when, from the side of the screen, a leg kicked Tony in the kidney. Steve jerked back, feeling the kick along with him, then stumbled to his feet, reaching out towards the screen, until a familiar voice spoke from off screen. It was a different voice than the man that kicked Tony, a familiar voice. Steve’s blood ran cold. “I told you not to move, unless you were going to do what I said.”

Rumlow. Pierce had gone down when Bucky turned on HYDRA, but the Strike Team had vanished into the wind. They should’ve gone after them. No, Steve should’ve punched Rumlow’s brains out of the back of his head in that elevator, but he didn’t. The fact was, he could have prevented this. This was what happened when they dropped their guard and thought they were safe, forgot to look over their shoulder and be proactive. Tony was _gone_.

“Fuck you,” Tony spat, and the man kicked him again and again, until Tony was sobbing, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” and stopped moving entirely.

“Not yet,” Rumlow hissed. “But you’re about to be.”

The ropes exploded with electricity again, and Steve stumbled back until he hit the bed, eyes glued to the scene because he had to watch this for Tony, had to be there for him, even though his mind was spiralling. Tony in ropes, Tony in pain, a memory of Tony’s voice telling him not to move unless he was going to do as Tony said. He sobbed with Tony, because he couldn’t help him, he couldn’t do anything. He was helpless, while Tony, tortured and bloodied on the floor, did more to help the situation than he did. He sent this video, a trail for Steve to follow.

“How long before you break, Stark?”

“Probably not long,” Tony admitted, failing to keep the painful groan out of his voice. And Steve wondered if he was answering Rumlow not for Rumlow’s sake, but because he hoped that Steve would hear his words.

Steve needed to move, he was wasting time. “JARVIS, status?”

“58 seconds.”

“We need to be faster, JARVIS. We’ve waited long enough. We don’t even know if this is live, he could be--” Steve wouldn’t think it, Tony Stark didn’t _die_ , not like this.

“Not such a big shot now?” A third man started taunting from off screen, and Steve’s fingers itched to reach out and crush his windpipe.

“JARVIS.”

“Another 30 seconds.”

The man came into view, pacing in front of Tony who was almost passed out now, the fight leaving him in favor of unconsciousness, but the man didn’t care, he stepped on Tony’s ankle until he screamed.

Steve was up, gripping the edges of the TV as he shouted for JARVIS to hurry. His hands braced the sides, cracking the rim.

“Location Confirmed.” A pause. “Sir, might I advise you to wait for the team?”

“Give me the location.”

“Sir-”

“Authorization Override, Tony Stark, Code: 989s4t; Now give me the location.”

It was an address on the outskirts of the city, a nearby warehouse district that was close enough that Steve could be there in less than an hour. He took one last look at Tony, and prayed that when he got to the warehouse he would still be breathing. Rumlow wanted Tony for something, and Steve had to believe that that would give him enough time. He took a long look at the men torturing Tony, committed their faces to memory. Then he turned off the television and left the room.

The team had taken the quinjets, so his bike was the next fastest way out the city.  It was waiting for him when he pushed open the door of the garage. Steve slid on, starting the engine and barely sparing the time to put on his helmet. He took a deep breath, and when he closed his eyes, all could see was Tony in ropes.

Tony and ropes meant safety, warmth. Locked in Tony’s cuffs meant that he was being loved, held.

Except now Tony was shuddering in bindings of pain and torture, and Steve had to stop it. He revved the engine, and for a single moment, the fear and the pain bubbled in his chest, but he swallowed down his sob. Tony needed him, and that was all that mattered. He shot off into the night.


	6. Chapter 6

Tony couldn’t stop shivering. He knew it wasn’t that cold in the room, and his body was utterly exhausted, but the shaking wouldn’t stop. The movement only made everything worse, because every muscle and joint was screaming in agony. They’d shocked him until he’d finally relented, agreeing to program the Insight chips. And they’d set him a deadline - tomorrow morning. That was as much time as he could buy the others to find him. Though he had no idea how they would.

He could pretend to code for as long as possible, but when the deadline hit they were going to test the program and see it was bogus. Then they’d either shock him again or just kill him outright and move on to the next genius. They probably wouldn’t even have to tie Hammer up at all, if they could get their hands on him. He’d do it willingly just to be the only extraordinary mind left in the world. 

Tony curled his hands over his stomach and tried to will the shaking to stop. They’d left him alone with the computer, a few guards by the door, and the creepy robot puppet, still shackled but with his hands free enough to type. And finally free enough to curl and shake for a while until the pain subsided. 

When he could find the strength to sit up, he’d see if there was a way to get a message to the tower, access JARVIS, or broadcast his coordinates somehow, but he doubted there would be. They’d brought him here especially for his technological prowess, it wasn’t like they were just going to hand over the wifi password. And if he could think more clearly, get this horrible grey fog out of his head, he’d probably be able to come up with a way to hack through, but right now… right now all he could think about was Steve.

Steve… Tony hadn’t known it was possible to miss someone this badly. They’d been apart before, sometimes for a long time, but this time there was a gaping, raw, Steve-shaped wound in his gut. He didn’t even know if he’d made it out of the battle…

As the pain radiated through his body, Tony found his mind sinking more and more into a dreamscape, his memories mixing with fantasies he’d had planned for the two of them to play out. Steve spread out underneath him, flushed, eager and willing. Tony owned every inch of his body but he never wanted to stop claiming him, marking him, taking him. And Steve gave it all. So gorgeous...

Rumlow interrupted Tony’s fantasy by stomping into the room, three black-clad morons in tow. “How’s it going, Tony? I don’t hear typing.” He sneered.

Tony hauled himself up to his knees and glared at Rumlow. “I was trying to decide what I should photoshop your head onto.”

Rumlow actually laughed which only pissed Tony off more. He dipped his head to speak quietly to a few of his goons, and Tony summoned the strength to crawl up the edge of the box that the computer was on and see what he was working with.

There was a clang down the hallway. Tony’s fingers paused on the keyboard. He sensed more than heard movement, and he lifted his head, curious. Three more STRIKE idiots had silently poured into the room. 

Another clang.

Another STRIKE goon entered.

Tony shifted around, hand gripping the edge of the box to keep his shaky legs steady. He counted. There were almost twice as many in the room as there had been for kicking the crap out of him. That was… excessive -

Another clang. And there was no mistaking it now. The shield. Oh god, Steve was coming for him. Tony choked back a whimper, not wanting to give Rumlow the pleasure of hearing him nearly broken. Tony looked up at the man now, to catch a moment of triumph, to see the dawning realization and take comfort in Rumlow’s fear. But when he found Rumlow’s eyes, it wasn’t fear there…

It was triumph.

And there were  _ ten  _ more guys in tac suits.

Tony’s soaring heart plummeted back down to his feet, tearing through his stomach on the way down and taking him to the floor with it. It suddenly all clicked into place. They’d never wanted him at all. The torture, the demands, none of it was real. Tony was easy to take down, to stop, once you had a way to drop the suit, but how do you get Captain America in a room with thirty highly trained soldiers ready to take him down? 

You take Tony.

Tony suppressed the urge to yell, to struggle against his bonds. It was too late to do anything now, as soon as Steve heard his voice he’d be in here. All Tony could do was hope that the Avengers had a plan that prepared them for the onslaught Rumlow had set up.

But when Steve finally burst through the door, he was alone.

“Steve! Get out! It’s a fucking tr-” Rumlow’s hand struck across Tony’s face, slamming the rest of his sentence into the floor. And it didn’t matter anyway, because there was no way for Steve to get out now. The STRIKE team and their new recruits swarmed him. Where the fuck where the rest of the Avengers?

Tony grunted out in frustration, shaking his cuffed hands in vain. The shield collided with one man’s shoulder, plowing him bodily into two more and bringing all three to the floor. A crackle broke through the grunts and thuds of battle, and Steve’s immense advantage was brought low when Rumlow wrapped the electrified bonds around his neck and turned it on.

It must have settings higher than the ones they used against Tony. Steve hit the ground like a sack of potatoes, and in a second they were on him. He was wrestled to his feet, still jerking and shaking under the force of the shock, but his teeth were already clenched, jaw going tight, and Tony knew that look; Steve was going to push through it.

But it was too much. They slammed Steve’s hands against the wall, using the same cuffs Steve had told him they’d used in SHIELD’s elevator, clearly further reinforced. There were too many of them this time. They hadn’t made the mistake of limiting their forces with a small space. Rumlow had stacked the deck wildly in his favour, and managed to pull Steve in without the rest of the team. 

Steve struggled as the swarm of men overpowered him, not letting him get enough leverage to break free of the cuffs, even through the shocks seemed to have abated for now. In his panic, he shot a look to Tony, desperate and needy. Tony raged against his bonds, struggling and fighting even as the last of his depleted strength waned. They had their  _ filthy  _ hands on  _ his Steve  _ and he  _ needed - _

The far door exploded off its hinges, and Tony tucked his face into his shoulder automatically, squeezing his eyes shut. When he opened them again, Nat and Bucky were charging through the door, guns blazing. A green arm appeared after, then the Hulk shouldered his way in, snapping the door frame in two and sending spider-web cracks up the wall around it. 

“Fuck, they weren’t supposed to get here so fast!” someone yelled.

There was a grunt from Rumlow. “They split up the team, you idiot - take the others!”

Unprepared, the STRIKE team split too, half staying crowded around the restrained Steve, and half turning to face the new threat. The momentary confusion allowed Steve to get one leg free which was all he needed. He hiked his knee up and slammed his heel against the wall, using the leverage to spin and clock the nearest goon in the jaw. Tony could hear the sickening crack of breaking bones. Steve ripped his arm forward and the cuff exploded - reinforcements be damned. He ripped the electric rope off his neck and slammed the handful into the face of the nearest STRIKE operative. It must have still been live, though Steve had stopped reacting, because it clicked loudly and the man hit the floor, twitching and whining.

Tony was starting to find it hard to follow the fight. Flashes of colour, shouts, it was all background to Steve’s face. The edges of his vision blurred, and he swallowed hard a few times, trying to clear his mind and his sight but getting nowhere. The Hulk roared - more thuds and painful cries. 

And then heavy breathing, nearby. His blinked his eyes open, not remembering having closed them at all, and Steve was there. Right there, leaning over him.

“Tony, Tony, Tony,” he muttered to himself, his eyes on Tony’s chest. There were hands now, flitting over him, stroking, petting, testing, looking for damage.

“Steve.” Tony reached for his hand, but couldn’t seem to find it with his own. There was a thump behind them, and Tony caught a blur of metal and a clang, then a thud. Steve was breathing heavily, a scrape across his forehead spilling blood over his brow but he was here and alive and Tony was going to be okay. “Steve…” he repeated.

Those beautiful blue eyes snapped to his, and the sheer relief he saw flood into them was enough to soothe Tony into some semblance of peace. Steve had him….

He’d be alright…

He let his eyes close again.


	7. Chapter 7

Steve leaned back against the wall of their bedroom, eyes fixed on the sleeping form in their bed. He ran his fingers through the carpet fibres idly, his feet kicked out in front of him on the floor. Under his watchful eye, Tony’s chest rose and fell, his lashes soft against his cheeks, mouth slightly open. Steve picked up the mug next to his hip and sipped his rapidly-cooling coffee. He kept forgetting it was even there.

He would never stop being grateful to Natasha, Bucky, and Bruce for showing up when they did. As soon as they saw that the call-out had been for more of those horrible puppet robots, they’d turned back to the tower, leaving Clint, Thor, and Sam to handle the attack. They were halfway home, suspecting a diversion, when JARVIS relayed Steve’s plan, and they’d immediately followed the coordinates to meet him there. Steve’s heart still clenched painfully in his chest when he thought about what might have happened if they hadn’t arrived when they did. STRIKE had him. He’d been stupid and impulsive, and Tony had almost died.

Tony shifted and sighed in his sleep, then humphed. His eyes fluttered open and fell on Steve. He frowned. “What are you doing?” he croaked, one hand coming up to rub sleep out of his eyes. His knuckles were still red and scabbed.

“Just watching,” Steve said lightly.

Tony’s eyes narrowed at him. “You don’t have to watch me sleep, Steve. I’m fine.”

“I know.” Steve pushed himself to his feet and crossed the room, alighting on the side of the bed by Tony’s hip. “I wanted to.”

Tony groaned and rolled onto his back, one hand finding Steve’s thigh with unerring accuracy and stroking softly. “You could have watched me from over here.” He patted the bed next to him, and Steve crawled up, stretching out along Tony’s side and pulling him into his arms when he rolled onto Steve’s chest.

“Every time I come back to bed, you wake up. I can’t seem to get in without jostling you.”

“Steve. How long were you on the floor?”

Steve hummed. “Not long.”

Tony huffed again, then cut his breath off sharply as he shifted. Steve couldn't help his wince. Tony had been back for a week, but while Steve’s injuries had faded overnight, Tony had been slower to heal. He’d cracked a tooth from the electric shocks and a rib from Rumlow’s kicks. He was covered in bruises and scrapes, scabbing and fading now but still painful. Steve could tell that the worst of it was how sore and wiped out Tony felt. He’d slept for most of two entire days after they’d made it through SHIELD medical and into the tower. And awake, Tony winced and limped his way around the penthouse. More than once, Steve caught him leaning against the kitchen counter, eyes squeezed shut, breathing through the pain. 

He was healing though - every day was better than the one before. Physically anyway… Steve wasn’t sure if he was healing otherwise. And he didn’t really know how to ask.

“Hungry?” Steve asked, but Tony only sighed. “Pill?”

“No.” Tony pushed himself up and stretched, his eyes pinching at the edges. “They make my brain fuzzy, and I need to work on the suit today.”

Steve tensed, and he felt Tony stiffen as well, in response. “Really? It can wait until you’re better.”

Tony picked at his fingernails then shot Steve a look. “How long were you on the floor, Steve?”

Their room was filled with tense silence. 

“Two hours.”

“Fuck…” Tony rubbed his hands over his face then through his hair.

“Sorry,” Steve mumbled, not entirely sure what he was apologizing for, but feeling the need all the same.

“I’m better enough to be in the workshop, Steve. I need this.”

Steve opened his mouth to protest, then snapped it shut again. “Alright. But I’m staying with you.”

Getting down to the workshop took some time, but once Tony was settled at his desk, Steve could see him light up with interest. He dove into his work, running diagnostics on the suit, then working his way through the damaged electrical systems, one piece at a time.

“Hey, Steve, can you grab me the socket set?” Steve pushed up off the couch and padded over to the supply cupboard, pulling out the case and bringing it back to Tony’s desk. He set it down, and Tony leaned back in his chair, seemingly to thank him, but the words died on his lips. Steve became distinctly aware that they were having the same memory. Almost - _ god  _ \- a year ago, the two of them had been right here, in this very position. Tony’s shirt had been off, the arc reactor popped free, and he’d asked - _ told  _ \- Steve to take it apart and put it back together, better. Steve had held Tony’s heart in his hand that day, and today -

Tony’s eyes darkened, electricity flashing through them. “And the pliers.” His tone shuddered through Steve straight down to his toes. He wasn’t asking this time.

Steve collected the pliers and brought them back. 

“Thank you,” Tony said this time, eyes locked on Steve’s. But he wasn’t saying thank you, he was saying  _ good boy.  _ Steve could feel it humming through him. Steve didn’t go back to the couch, hovering by Tony’s side instead, waiting to be needed again. As he stood, he let himself drift in a way he hadn’t since Tony had gone missing. For the first time, he didn’t feel the need to be on alert, ready to swoop in and put things back together. He felt comfortable, easy. If Tony needed something, he’d ask. Until then, Steve could wait.

“Swap this out with the same piece from the other side.” Tony’s voice broke through Steve’s haze, and he was moving before he’d even processed the words. He brought the repaired piece back to where the suit lay and returned with its twin. Tony caught Steve’s hand as he pulled it away, and pressed a kiss to his knuckles. 

And so it went on. Tony worked his way through a solid portion of the suit, dipping into the laser-focus he only accessed for building the suit or taking Steve apart. Steve floated, sinking into easy pleasure, his hazy attention on nothing but Tony. When his legs got tired of standing, he sunk to his knees next to the chair, resting his cheek against Tony’s leg. Tony’s fingers brushed his hair every now and then. 

He felt safe for the first time since he saw Iron Man fall. 

“Okay.” Tossed aside the piece he was working on and pushed his chair away from the desk. “About a third there. Not bad.”

“Ready to go back upstairs?” Steve asked from his place on the floor. He felt the edges of his words and mind going fuzzy, and he hoped that Tony wouldn’t want to stand yet. It felt so nice to be here at his feet again, soft and floating.

“Mmm, soon.” Tony swiveled until Steve was nestled between his legs, still stroking his fingers through Steve’s hair. Steve leaned into the touch, nuzzling Tony’s palm with his cheek every time it passed by. Steve shifted off his leg, which was starting to fall asleep, and the movement pressed his cheek against Tony’s crotch. He was suddenly reminded of the fact that they hadn’t had sex in two weeks. And suddenly that was all he could think about, because Tony was clearly thinking about the same thing. 

They’d gone from having sex at least once, but usually twice a day, to complete cold turkey while Tony was healing. The doctor had said “no physical activity or strain” and Steve had taken it to heart. But it was horrible waiting. At first, he’d been too distracted worrying and hovering to even think about it, but once Tony started healing, Steve’s body helpfully reminded him that he hadn’t been touched and - more importantly - that he hadn’t had his hands on Tony, in ages.

But now, Steve was floating in the happy hazy place that Tony could shift him into so easily, even without his collar, and he couldn’t resist rubbing his face against Tony’s rapidly hardening erection, breathing in the familiar scent of Tony’s sweat and skin. 

“Ah, fuck, Steve.” Tony’s hand landed in his hair again, fingers scraping lightly against his scalp this time. Steve huffed hot breath against Tony’s cock, and even through two layers of clothing, Tony jumped. 

They shouldn’t. Tony was still hurt. But Steve was riding high on helping Tony all day in the workshop, and the feeling of Tony’s fingers in his hair, and if he could just… “Can I suck you off?” he begged.

_ “Yes,”  _ Tony hissed, his free hand snapping to his jeans so fast his breath hitched at the sudden movement.

Steve’s head cleared a little. “Are you sure?” The only answer he got was Tony’s fingers tightening almost painfully in his hair and his clear, brown gaze meeting Steve’s. Steve nodded, swallowing, and Tony opened his jeans the rest of the way and eased his cock out. Steve immediately sucked him down, keeping his eyes fixed on Tony’s so he could watching for pain there. But Tony didn’t tense, he did the opposite, sinking back in his chair with a happy sigh. 

And if Steve could bring him some pleasure, some relief to help ease the pain, he would. He worked Tony slowly, knowing it wouldn’t take much after so long without, but wanting to draw the pleasure out a little, keep it easy and slow. His head was still pleasantly fuzzy, but now he had something to focus on besides drifting, and he put his all into it. Tasting Tony, feeling the slide of his hard cock over his tongue, swallowing around the head as he slid down as far as he could go, it was perfection - everything he had missed. His own cock was painfully hard in his pants, and he dropped one hand to press over it. The friction made him gasp, and Tony moaned at the sound, his fingers tightening again then loosening, clutching Steve’s hair and releasing. Steve picked up the pace, sucking Tony down deep, bracing one hand against Tony’s leg - careful to choose the one without the bruised ankle - while his other hand stroked his own cock through his pants.

Tony tensed, then groaned, and Steve’s mouth was filled the familiar bitter taste of Tony’s come. He swallowed as much as he could, not wanting to stain Tony’s pants when they still had to make their way back upstairs, then ruined it by coming hard in his own jeans anyway, grinding against the palm he had pressed to his cock. He panted through his orgasm, forehead pressed to Tony’s inner thigh, then looked up and met his eyes. Tony gazed down at him, eyes warm with affection, and it was the first time Steve really believed that everything was going to be alright. 

Tony stroked the corner of Steve’s jaw with his thumb. “Thank you.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY FIFTIETH HELD! Thank you for sticking with us, guys. We <3 you. We'll be back next week with something special (ooo). Here's to 50 more!

When they had first returned to the penthouse, it was jarring how little had changed from before the Assemble. Steve hadn’t moved the collar from the dresser, and the surprise Tony had prepared for Steve still hid inside the ottoman by the bed. It was a distracting thought, as Tony sat on the couch nearly six weeks later.

Steve must have felt Tony stiffen, because he shifted under his hand. “Are you--?”

I'm fine," Tony repeated, as he'd needed to almost every day since he came home. He felt back to normal, nothing twinged when he turned, and he no longer ached. Steve still worried and Tony couldn’t blame him, all he could do was assure him whenever he asked.

Steve followed his gaze to the bedroom, the book in his hand long forgotten. “What is it then?”

“Remember, before the call out for the puppets, I’d mentioned--”

Steve nodded. “You said you had plans for me.” He swallowed, and Tony watched the tips of his cheeks turn pink. “I remember.”

Tony chuckled lightly. He knew that tone and that blush, and he knew he was gazing heatedly at Steve from the way he dropped his gaze and turned into Tony. “Sounds like you’ve thought about it more than once since the Assemble,” Tony teased.

“Maybe.” Steve shrugged, smiling. “Your surprises often end with me having a good time, so...” He trailed off, shifting under Tony’s gaze, and a surge of want came over Tony like a physical force. He leaned forward and tilted Steve’s chin up until he could connect their lips in a kiss. He pulled back when he finally processed Steve’s words.

“ _Usually?_ I beg your pardon, Captain Loose as Jello because I just gave you a massage. I’ll have you know that my surprises will _always_ end with you having a good time, because you Cap, look absolutely stunning when you’re blissed out, and why would I deprive myself of that sight? So yes, this surprise will certainly end with you having a good time. At least, that was the plan.”

“What’s the plan now?” Steve asked, and Tony’s cock hardened at the question because this was his Steve, always ready and willing to follow his lead.

“Take off your shirt.” He gave the order, not just to see Steve’s spectacular chest, but so that Steve’s eyes would darken, so that he would take a breath and settle under Tony’s command. It was thrilling, the way Steve yielded to him, every time.

Steve sat up on the couch, removed his shirt with a practiced ease and waited for Tony, gazing up from under his lashes. He was so beautiful, so comfortable and familiar and _home_.

“I love you.” He said the words because they were true and because he could, he was alive another day to love Steve, to take Steve. Steve whose eyes had never left his, whose said _I love you, too_ like it was a prayer. Tony took a breath. “Go into the ottoman by the bed and bring me what you find there.”

Steve lifted from the couch with a beautiful grace, the muscles of his back dancing as he walked into their bedroom. “Leave your pants in the bedroom. And bring your collar out too,” Tony added when Steve was at the threshold. He paused by the door, gave the tiniest of smiles back at Tony over his shoulder before continuing into the bedroom.

He returned a moment later with the ½” jute ropes Tony had designed with a serum-resistant threading. They were coiled and fell over the edges of Steve’s hands as he held them out like an offering but with a quizzical expression on his face.

Tony’s first thought was that Steve was remembering the warehouse, the electric ropes that had tied Tony up, that had knocked Steve down. Tony’s breath caught and his pulse raced as he waited for Steve’s expression to turn to horror or worse, disgust.

Instead he surprised Tony with a single word. “Blue?”

It took Tony a moment to realize he was talking about the color of the ropes. The turn in the conversation warmed some of the cold that had creeped in at the thought of the warehouse, and his hand was steady when he reached out for the ropes. Steve passed them over, before coming to kneel in front of where Tony sat on the sofa. His hands clasped behind his back, loose around his collar, while he waited for Tony to speak.

“Yes, blue.” Tony considered the ropes, remembering the hours in the workshop he spent braiding the fibers. “Why so surprised?”

“Everything you make for me is red and gold, they’re all...you know, your colors. I like it, being restrained or, or blindfolded, or--” he broke off, licking his lips “--or plugged, with your colors.”

“I like it too,” Tony said, voice rough because hearing Steve say how much he loved being owned by Tony was enough to derail his memories of the warehouse, at least for the moment. The ropes felt different than the ones that had pierced into his own screaming wrists. He wrapped the coil around his fist, seeing the blue cover his knuckles, falling across his wrist where Rumlow’s black ropes had tied too tight. But the blue was his. His ropes, his Steve.

He looked up to where Steve sat, waiting, beautiful and patient, his breath coming out unsteady as he watched Tony wrap the rope around his own skin.

“They’re blue because of your eyes.” Tony connected their gazes. “Blue because of the contrast the color makes across your skin.” Tony stood from the couch, his free hand coming to Steve’s shoulder, running his fingers along his neck. “They’re blue because the red and gold of your collar will pop so beautifully against them.” Steve shuddered at his words and leaned into him, pressing his forehead against Tony’s thigh and they stood there for a moment enjoying the feel of one another.  

Behind Steve’s back, the collar was waiting in an open fist for Tony to take, and he didn’t want to wait another moment to have it back around Steve’s neck.

“Are you sure about this?” Tony asked, because they’d done things like thing before, bindings and chains and restraints, but the ropes were new, and now, after everything… Ropes were different, if they let them be.

“Are _you_ sure about this?” Steve replied. “It was you that--”

“It was you too.” Tony’s chest felt like it was in his throat. “And you had to watch--” Tony clenched his jaw, took a calming breath and let the tension release. “I want this. It won’t be the same as that. It can’t be. What we have is more than toys and scenes and ropes. It’s the...spirit, behind it all. It won’t be the same because that was fucking Rumlow and fucking torture. And this is us, this is you. I want this. But only if you want it too.”

Steve eyes were wide but he remained by Tony’s side, on his knees. He raised his wrists to Tony in an offering and an answer.

Tony reached down for the collar, its familiar weight anchoring him as much as it did Steve, then he lowered to kneel by Steve’s side. He heard Steve gasp when the collar touched his collarbone. He wanted it, Tony’s claim around his neck, and seeing the physical effects of that want - Steve’s panting breath, his dilated pupils - It made Tony want to slow down, revel in the moment instead of rush through it.

And here with Steve, Tony would get what he wanted.

Steve’s tongue shot out to swipe at his lips when Tony kissed Steve’s wrist. Then Tony took his hand and brought it around to rest along the middle of his back. He grabbed his other arm, and moved it so it rested on top, side by side in a box across Steve’s back.

“Stay.”

Steve followed the order beautifully, and Tony looped the end of the rope and threaded it around Steve’s forearms three times before securing it with a knot. He placed a finger between the knot and Steve’s skin, because these ropes could cut off circulation if that was what Tony wanted - he had made sure of it - but it wasn’t what he wanted now.

Now, he wanted Steve at ease, in a position he could sit comfortably for Tony for hours. He pulled the end of the rope and wrapped it around Steve’s shoulders and pecs once, then twice. His fingers brushed along Steve chest, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake.Tony pulled the rope taut then looped it behind the rope that secured his arms, pulling it into the knot on his forearms. The ropes tightened, and Steve shuddered, letting a moan escape his lips.

Tony was eager to see the end result, could picture it already, arms tied behind his back, chest out and back arched beautifully. He sped through the ropes that tied around the bottom of his pecs, then walked around him to move to his legs. Steve was already in position, kneeling with his thighs on his calves, but Tony’s hands itched to touch him, tease him. He slipped his hands between Steve’s thighs, high enough so that the side of his finger brushed the bottom of Steve’s balls. Steve yelped, eyes springing open with surprise, and he smiled, breathless towards Tony.

“So responsive.” Tony dragged his hand against his inner thigh. “Spread your legs apart darling, let me have some room to touch you.” Steve’s legs fell open, and Tony reached for the other ropes. “Wider.” Steve spread his legs as he was told, and Tony could see the tightness of his balls where they pulled up against his cock, and Steve looked amazing but Tony wanted to make him flush and squirm a bit. “Wider.” He let his voice come out with a trace of edge and Steve reacted, arching against the ropes that held his arms together and leveraging the momentum to spread his legs even wider.

“Good boy.” Tony ran his hand up and down Steve’s thigh then slid the rope around Steve’s leg so that it rested like a garter, high on his leg. He tied it around his thigh and above his ankle, feeling Steve tense and shudder as he maneuvered him. “Now the other side,” Tony whispered.

He ran his hand from the rope around his knee, up along his inner thigh to wrap, lightly, around Steve’s cock and stroked, once, before bringing the rope up and tying his other leg. Tony stood back to admire his work.

The box tie that secured Steve’s arms displayed his chest and highlighted each of his panting breaths. His legs were open for Tony, his cock twitching, untouched.

Tony wanted to touch Steve everywhere. He circled Steve, ran his hand around his shoulders, over his pecs, tugging at the ropes to make Steve bend into a searing kiss. These ropes were his, Steve was his. He fell to his knees behind Steve, wrapping his arms around his front to stroke his cock roughly. “Can’t touch yourself, my love. I’ll have to do it for you.”

Steve writhed in his arms as much as the rope allowed, his head lolling back to rest on Tony’s shoulder. “Yes,” he whimpered into Tony’s ear. “Yours. Can’t do anything, Tony. Just feel. Helpless for you.”

And he was helpless, this beautiful man, he chose to be tied for Tony, tied to Tony. “I’ll make you feel so good, yes.” His hand sped on Steve’s cock. “I want you to get filthy, come all over your blue ropes, come in my hand.” Steve let out a string of moans. Tony bit down on his neck and that pushed Steve over the edge.

“So beautiful.” Tony thrust a few times into the damp skin of Steve’s back while he recovered, before pulling him down by the ropes to lay him on the rug. Steve sprawled back on his elbows with his tied legs splayed. “Rest like that, my sweet.” Tony brushed a light hand over his stomach, delighted in the way the muscles danced under his fingertips. The other hand wrapped around his own cock, stroking fast.

Steve looked up at him, eyelids heavy, and he looked like he was floating in pleasure, had been long before his orgasm. Steve’s jaw fell open, and it took Tony a moment to realize what the gesture meant. “You want my cock, Steve?” Tony was already moving onto his knees, positioning himself so that he could trace his cockhead over Steve’s lips.

“Yes, Tony,” Steve whispered against the tip. Steve’s tongue flicked out, and Tony pushed his cock up against his lips, letting Steve mouth along the length, his breath hot on his skin.

“Fuck, Steve.” His hand came down to rest against Steve’s collar, and Tony knew Steve couldn’t move, bound by the criss-crossing blue ropes, waiting for Tony to grab his cock and fill his mouth. He pushed his cock between Steve’s lips, fucking his mouth gently, moving further in with every thrust. When he hit the back of Steve’s throat, Steve moaned and swallowed, trying to take even more. “So good, so good my love,” he continued his litany of praise, and his unrelenting pace, until he felt himself getting close, then he pulled out and stroked until he came over Steve’s face, over the ropes, and across his nipples. He continued stroking, forcing another stripe of come out over Steve’s lap and across the blue that bound his upper thigh. When he was finally done painting the man with his come, he fell to the side facing Steve. “Perfect, just perfect,” he whispered through a rough breath as his eyes raked over Steve. _“These_ ropes, I love.”

“Me too.” Steve grinned, loose and free and falling into Tony.

Tony caught him with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, come visit us on tumbly: [ashes0909](http://ashes0909.tumblr.com) and [FestiveFerret](http://festiveferret.tumblr.com)


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